


An Incidental Proposal

by dango96



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21713509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dango96/pseuds/dango96
Summary: Hubert and Byleth spend the evening doing paperwork together during the war, and Byleth more-or-less accidentally ends up asking him to marry her.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 21
Kudos: 352





	An Incidental Proposal

Byleth Eisner is a curious individual.

Hubert isn’t sure when the animosity between them had melted into something more fond. It’s not quite camaraderie — his feelings for Byleth cannot be articulated in terms as simple as trust or an ability to rely on one another, the way he might describe his friendship with, say, Linhardt or Caspar.

It is something deeper. Something nearer to loyalty, mutual understanding, and the genuine enjoyment of each other’s company. He would describe it as not unlike the feelings he has for Lady Edelgard, but even then — it is different, somehow. Not more or less important, simply… occupying a different space in his heart.

Perhaps it was around the time she’d betrayed the church, that things had changed. Or when she’d woken from her slumber five years later, ready and willing to lay down her life in Her Majesty’s service. Or when she’d found him collapsed from exhaustion in the war room, long past the dinner hour, and carried him to his chambers herself — then finished his paperwork, while she was at it.

Somewhere along the way, Byleth had become someone very dear to him.

Recently, they’ve started to spend evenings together in his quarters, sorting through paperwork and missives. Despite her humble mercenary upbringing, she takes to the minutiae of bureaucracy with shocking ease. When questioned, she’d waved it away as a natural consequence of being a teacher and a general — once in charge of organizing assignments, now in charge of organizing troops.

Whatever the cause, Hubert finds himself appreciating it deeply. She had once joked that if he is Her Majesty’s right hand, then she is the right hand’s right hand. And perhaps he’d needed an extra hand all this time — there have been far fewer sleepless nights for him since she began to volunteer her help.

And here they are again, not long after a mission. The work had simply piled up in their absence, and there is much to be done.

“Just as Claude said, the remaining Alliance lords are readily agreeing to side with the Empire,” Byleth says calmly, rifling through letters.

Hubert only looks up from the document he’s reading to absentmindedly scribble a note of it, humming in acknowledgment.

“One of your spies caught wind of discontent in a few northwestern cities by the border. They haven’t yet pinpointed the cause, but if it’s a rebellion, we might want to dispatch a party to quell it before it gets out of hand.”

Hubert’s brow furrows slightly, but not too far. Nothing too concerning. He hums again distractedly, turning a page, growing more deeply engrossed in his reading material.

Byleth shifts where she’s sitting cross–legged in one of his chairs — a large and luxurious upholstered armchair that had been commandeered for Hubert’s room a few months ago, meant to assist him in his long evenings. She had long since claimed it as her spot, and he rarely used it as a result.

She finds herself admiring him, watching the fabric of his white dress shirt crinkle at the elbows, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He is an elegant, long–limbed creature, dangerous yet fascinating, not unlike a spider.

Somewhere along the way, Hubert had become very dear to her, as well. These nights spent together in relative peace, drinking hot beverages and discussing matters of domain and strife, have become something precious — a treasured reprieve from the grim, bloody spectacle of a battlefield.

These rare, tender feelings had scared her at first, before she’d recognized them for what they were. She could not name anyone else in her life who had managed to stir such emotions in her. And while knowing the name of a beast made it easier to control, she often found herself craving more.

“Military encampments have been spotted near Rowe territory. It could be patrols, or they could be planning to capture territory near the border.” She nibbles her lip, then looks up at Hubert pointedly. She finds herself hoping he will meet her gaze. “Those two events could be connected.”

But he hardly pays her any mind, making another distracted noise of acknowledgment, lifting his mug of coffee to take a sip. Perhaps he’s gotten _too_ comfortable in Byleth’s presence; her voice has become something of a soothing background noise, it would seem.

She resists the urge to clear her throat in annoyance. Certainly, she could take the blunt approach — but sometimes matters with Hubert are best handled with more finesse.

And as luck would have it, a wicked, giddy thought plants its seed in her mind.

“Also, the head of House Eisner is making plans to propose soon,” she says slowly, keeping her voice as even and neutral as it had been while reading other tidbits. “I have it on good authority that she will be asking House Vestra’s heir for his hand in marriage.”

“Is that so,” Hubert mumbles thoughtfully, lifting his cup again, completely ignorant to the actual content of her statement.

A memory drifts to Byleth’s mind unbidden — her father warning her when she was just past the cusp of puberty, to be careful when trusting men. That all of them were idiots, and some just hid it better than others.

Somehow, she doesn’t think _this_ brand of stupidity is what he meant. But nonetheless, it makes her smile.

“I’m sure Hubert will make a beautiful bride,” Byleth continues, sipping her own coffee, her eyes twinkling over the rim of the mug.

The mention of his own name is enough to break his reverie, and she drinks in the sight of him choking on his coffee, sputtering, nearly dropping his cup. It takes so much to break Hubert’s calm composure that she has only been privy to it on a few occasions — and she has never before seen him _this_ flustered. It’s oddly wonderful.

“If—” Hubert chokes out, once he finishes coughing, “if you are simply going to waste my precious time, _Professor,_ then perhaps I should finish this batch of papers on my own.”

It’s only then that she notices he is _glowering_ at her, as well as blushing deeply. The color seems out of place on his pale cheekbones, almost as if he’s sick, but manages to look charming to her all the same.

_Oh. Poor Hubert._

He’d interpreted it as mocking him, rather than picking up on the underlying flirtation. As if the very idea that she could take him as a husband was preposterous, laughable.

Her heart hurts at the thought, and she frowns. She’d harmed him, unintentionally or not, with her careless words and actions, and thus must make amends.

Byleth considers her next move carefully. She may have a talent for parsing bureaucracy, but the particulars of social interaction and courting are not exactly something she has experience with.

“Does that mean that Marquis Vestra will be turning down the proposal?”

Hubert grows darker still, putting his cup down with more force than is necessary. “I thought I’d made it quite clear that I don’t find this attempt at a _joke_ amusing. I’d expected better of you.”

She hesitates again, flushing with embarrassment. It’d seemed so simple in her head a moment ago. And now, here she is, about to potentially make a fool of herself in front of the man she respects more than anyone.

“What if,” she says slowly, schooling her face into the most serious stare she can muster, “I wasn’t joking?”

Hubert stiffens, the darkness instantly lifting from his expression, leaving something delightfully dumbfounded in its place. The tips of his ears are pink, and the secret corner of his heart — that small, guarded part he’d reserved for Byleth and Byleth alone — aches with some unfamiliar emotion.

“Excuse me?”

She steels herself and gets up, crossing the small room to where he sits in the chair beside his writing desk, keeping her expression even.

“If the Lady Eisner should desire to propose?” A sudden boldness fills her, and she dares to sit in Hubert’s lap, ignoring his jolt of surprise — she’s already thrown caution to the wind with this entire conversation, after all, and there isn’t much damage left to be done. “Would Marquis Vestra consider it?”

Hubert’s normally serious guise has been ripped off, and there are so many unfamiliar emotions stirring in his eyes — shock, nervousness, even a twinge of fear. Byleth finds herself wanting to see even more.

Her voice drops in volume, grows more soft and more earnest than she’d imagined possible, as inexperienced with emotion as she is. She tries — mostly fails, but tries — to look sultry. “If Lady Eisner thought he was a… fascinating, intelligent, mysterious man?”

A beat of silence passes between them, and finally, Hubert places it — this unfamiliar, terrifying feeling that has taken root in his heart. How strange that he didn’t recognize it sooner.

“We... we are in the middle of a war,” he stammers.

“I didn’t hear a no,” she points out in return. “And yes, we are. All the more reason to make sure nothing important is left unsaid.”

“Professor,” Hubert says quietly, his gaze darting frantically between her eyes and her lips, uncertain which is more incriminating to stare at.

“Byleth.”

“Byleth,” he echoes obediently, suddenly feeling rather exposed. He is too afraid to admit this feeling aloud, as if giving voice to it might cause it to disappear.

Her smile is his reward for his compliance, and his heart clenches in his chest at the sight of it.

“You must be aware that you have many suitors.” The words are surprisingly difficult to say, and he finds he has to force them out. Selfishly enough, he does not want to make her aware of that reality, that she might choose a man more deserving. “I would not want you to do anything… rash.” 

“Trust me.” Byleth’s fingers cup his jaw, confidence in her eyes. “I’ve thought about this.”

Hubert flushes, unable to turn away from her with his face caught in her hand. He has no choice but to look at her, feeling suddenly uncharacteristically bashful.

“There are no resources for a wedding during a war,” he finally admits, always pragmatic. “And I… I would not wish to do anything that might distract Her Majesty from her work, or create an opportunity for the enemy to strike.”

Byleth’s expression starts to fall, but before she can say anything in return, he continues.

“But,” he hastily adds, then feels his face grow scarlet with the admission. “I believe that Marquis Vestra… would most certainly agree to a long engagement, if that might satisfy the lady.”

From the way Byleth’s face immediately lifts into a beaming smile, he would wager that the arrangement indeed satisfies. Without notice, she closes the gap between them, drawing him into a kiss.

It is — sloppy, inelegant. Unbeknownst to the other, neither of them have ever kissed anyone. But despite their relative inexperience, they figure it out together, angling themselves into tender, delicate brushes of skin and mouth like two jigsaw pieces fitting flush. As alien as physical affection seems after being deprived of it for so long, Hubert nonetheless finds himself craving it like water in a desert.

The kiss only stutters and breaks when he feels the brush of fabric against his hand, Byleth removing one of his gloves to expose the bare flesh underneath. He flushes at it exposing his pale, discolored skin, marred up to his wrist by scars that look like black veins — all from a lifetime of bending dark forces to his will.

It’s one of the many reasons Hubert wears gloves, and yet another jolt of fear courses through him at the prospect of his now–future wife witnessing it. Will she find it repulsive? Will she withdraw her proposal?

But she does not falter, sliding a band onto his ringfinger, silver studded with smooth blue stones. Some kind of opal, perhaps, judging by the reddish flash when he curiously turns it over.

It hardly feels real, and he can’t hope to put words to the feelings it instills in him. But it is beautiful all the same.

“You can wear it under your glove,” she suggests softly. “Until the war is over.”

“Byleth,” he says quietly, reverently, feeling a rush of gratitude for her willingness to be discreet. “Thank you.”

He slides the glove back on.

After a few moments, both of them relocate — the hard wooden desk chair abandoned for the cushy upholstered armchair, large enough to fit two, if narrowly. They continue reading through documents together into the late hours of the evening.

The difference, now, is that Hubert does it with Byleth cuddled up next to him, her head resting lightly on his chest. Instead of using his unoccupied hand to sip his coffee, he slips it around her shoulders, playing absentmindedly with her hair.

Byleth Eisner is a curious individual, made even stranger by her love for such an odd, wicked man. But for the rest of the night, his mind continues to drift to the weight on his finger, feeling a rush of something like _hope_ each time he is reminded of the secret between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed my work!


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